


Scorchrest, Washington

by Writerslovecoffee



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alien/Human Relationships, Angst, Demonic Possession, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/M, Gothic, Homebrew Content, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by The Adventure Zone (Podcast), Loch Ness Monster, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Nonbinary Character, Original Character Death(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Sasquatch, Welcome to Night Vale References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writerslovecoffee/pseuds/Writerslovecoffee
Summary: This fic was originally planned to be a homebrew DnD campaign set in modern times but was cancelled, so I adapted it into a full story. Takes inspiration from gothic tumblr prompts, TAZ: Amnesty, and WTNV.Scorchrest, Washington is a small town off of an exit that doesn’t exist in the Olympic Peninsula. It draws people in like a siren’s call and doesn’t let go. “The Bubble” only lets people out when they’ve completed their quest.Colel has all of the time in the world for self discovery, but that’s only if their newfound companion, Effy, doesn’t get them both killed in the process. At least if Effy dies, she gets to come back to life. Or at least, that’s how things are supposed to work if the local government wasn’t trying to hunt her down. Matt on the other hand, is far from the adventuring type and has no desire the leave The Bubble. Not until he figures out how he’s going to lay his husband’s unsettled soul to rest.The town’s sordid history is coming back to life and it’s sending the time and space around the town shaking. What—or who—would it take to save the people living inside?
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Effy (Prologue)

My aunt wanted to get me tested for OCD.

The moment I wake up, the first thing I do is take a shower. I don’t brush my hair or my teeth. I wouldn’t dare do anything as dangerous as walk down the stairs or eat something or practice magic until I’ve taken a shower.

I have to plan my alarm so I have enough time. I carefully pull my covers back. Sometimes, if I’m extremely paranoid, I’ll get on all fours. I make sure not to get too close to the stairs, I go into my bathroom, I flip on the water, and I step into the tub as gently as I can. There’s no mat on the inside of the shower, and no rugs to prevent slipping on the tile once it’s wet. I’ll stand in the shower with the water on as hot as I can stand, applying and reapplying soap onto my body until I slip.

My head will hit the side of the tub. Or the faucet. My skin will tear open, my skull will crack, and my blood will spill out into the water. I’ll lose consciousness. The second alarm on my phone will go off and I’ll wake up again inside the shower. The water will be cold and most of the blood will have washed away by then. I’ll get out of the shower and start my day.

Sometimes, I don’t die before my second alarm goes off. I have to get out of the shower, dry myself off, get dressed, eat breakfast.... it leaves me on edge all day. If I don’t die in the shower, I still have the failsafe of falling once I get out of the shower. If that doesn’t work, I’ll inhale my breakfast. I’ll leave my shoelaces untied as I go down the stairs. I’ll turn up the temperature on my hair straightener or leave it too close to the sink. Sometimes I don’t die until I get on my bike. I’ll hit a tree, or a fire hydrant, or a parked car. Usually minor damage to my target, but enough damage to kill me. I’ll wipe the blood off my brow and get back up.

I shouldn’t have slept in this morning. I should’ve gotten into the shower, I should’ve fallen, I should’ve busted my head on the faucet. I would’ve woken back up and gone to school. Maybe I wouldn’t have been on edge all day.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been run over by a car.

It was my fault. I thought everyone was smart enough to not be outside, so I was paying no mind to the crosswalk. It was almost midnight, so honestly, I thought it would just be one of those days where I simply don’t die. I thought I would be safe.

They tried to swerve but there was nothing they could’ve done. It was out of both of our control. I heard them scream, but my lips didn’t even part. There’s a weird sense of calmness that I get right before I die amidst the chaos. I know when it’s about to happen. I don’t panic or cry, I stand my ground and let the car run over me. My kneecaps went into the exact wrong direction upon the collision. Glass shattered. Metal crunched. Tires screeched. Bright yellow flashed above me. They hit a light pole.

I woke up and heard screaming.

I should’ve taken a shower this morning.


	2. Colel

Where do I start my story off? What was the exact moment that my life started falling apart?

Three days ago was my father’s funeral. He was my only family, and I was his only next of kin.

Dad didn't want a big funeral. I'm glad word got out as fast as it did because I honestly didn't know where to even begin with sending out obituaries. The funeral got pushed back further and further because so many people had to travel to the ceremony. It was a religious thing. He had so many friends from all over, I knew I couldn't reach them all. 

Dad knew a bunch of weird people. Seriously, the guy at the funeral home that was walking around during the visitation looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Barefooted monks, imams, satanic magi, nuns, priests, pastors, rabbis, even a cardinal from the Vatican. Many of them came up and talked to me as if they had known me my whole life. I felt like I didn't fit in. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I kept shifting between crossing my arms and folding my hands. 

Tight fingers gripped my shoulders. "Colel?" The voice sneered. People didn’t approach me. My father kept me under close wraps. I was an apprentice when his friends were around, not a child. Occasionally he would have me perform a magic trick to impress them, but he would always tell me how embarrassing I had been, no matter how hard I tried. I was always shooed out of the room. I winced, slowly turning my head around to see the person. It was a tall woman with a large black hat with a veil. Her face was obscured so I couldn't make out who she was, but she had a satanic pin on her lapel. She grimaced. "Hello, darling." 

"Hi." I replied simply. 

"How are you doing, darling?" The woman asked.

"Oh, I'm-I'm—" I swallowed the knot in my throat. I had been through a lot since Dad died. It's weird. It's been Dad and me for so long... I don't know what it feels like to be alone like this. Part of me was angry that he left me alone like this, sad that he was gone, and simply at peace with the fact that he wasn't in pain. For a man with magical powers, you would think maybe he died in battle fighting some other magical being. He died in his sleep. Cancer. After over a year of fighting it, Dad went quietly in his sleep of  cancer . It was the only thing he had ever failed to fix. "I'm doing alright, you know?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Where is, um—" The woman turned her head around, looking for someone. I had no idea who. She shook her head. "Never mind. I'll leave you be. My condolences." She gave me one last pat on the shoulders before walking away.

They had made Dad look really good when I last saw his body. He didn't look as sick as he had been when he died. They had to cremate him because there just wasn't room or resources to keep him in the fridge. Next to the urn was a wreath of flowers and a board of golden pins that he had earned over the years. To be completely honest, I don't even understand what half of them meant. Dad was a well respected man in his field, I knew that much. He spent the last decade in retirement, but over the past century, he was the most well known (well, not in the  normal people sense, but among our niche community) healer and alchemist in the modern world.

The funeral took forever. Not in a bad way, though. It was like a wedding where people kept interjecting. So many people from around the country, and the world, they had all of these stories about Dad and all of the things he had done to help people.

"Aye, I remember when Eddy was travelin' with me 'n' me crew 'n' he was the one that kept us alive during the worst storm I've ever laid my eyes on!"

"Eddy was the one that saved my life one night in Bristol, back in '87–er,  18 87–when no other doctor knew how to cure my parasite."

"Eddy was the only man I ever trusted to deliver all nineteen of my children."

"It was all because of old Eddy that my whole town wasn't wiped out when the Blue Plague came through."

"He saved me and my army from infection in the north of the Rwenzori Mountains."

"Eddy, poor man, he knew every cure for every illness but his own, didn't he?"

** This is pathetic. **

My whole body curled. 

There's really no organic way to talk about this. Like I can't go meet someone at a coffee shop to discuss our interests and just  casually bring it up. Hell, I've  tried it. I've dated plenty of guys, girls, and non binary people and it didn't take me long to figure out that my  problem isn't something people exactly find attractive. If you tell someone that you hear voices, they  lose their shit over it. Like, come on! _How do you think_ _ I _ _feel?!_ And what's worse is: how do I explain that well, I guess I  do technically hear voices, but it's technically only  one voice and it's the voice of a demon that I was possessed by when I was a little kid. 

There sounds to be a lot to unpack here, but I promise there isn't. It's just a facet of life, you know? Some kids make their parents macaroni necklaces in kindergarten and some kids get possessed by a demon, get thrown out of kindergarten, and are shipped off to live with some religious dude that lives on the side of a mountain. What are you going to do about it?

_ Listen, I get that you don't understand empathy and all that,  I thought back.  But you're being a real asshole right now. _

** Serves him right. That bastard was long overdue. I'm disappointed you didn't get around to the idea sooner.... **

_ Listen, can you just stop?  _ I pleaded. For the first time today, tears began to fill up my eyes.  _ I'm allowed to miss him. He was all I had. _

** What's next? Are you going to tell me that you gained something from that monster? Strength? Courage? Perseverance?  ** Head-demons can't exactly laugh, but if they could, I could hear that he would be laughing. My hands shot up to cover my ears, as if that could shut out his voice. I loved my dad. I  knew that I loved my dad. Even if he wasn't perfect, he was there for me, and he fed me, and he gave me a house and—  You're really trying to make yourself feel better, aren't you? The voice continued to "laugh". 

I couldn't stand to bear it for a second more. I pushed past a couple of people in the pew that were beside me and made a beeline for the bathroom. The quietness of the bathroom sent a ringing through my ears. I tried very hard to think about nothing, but the voice continued to mock me. 

** And did Daddy ever pay any attention to you? Or ask you how your day was? Or help you with your silly little high school dioramas?  **

I was afraid this was going to happen, I'm just glad I planned for it. My pills don't work instantly, but they help numb out the voice for a little while. I had slipped on taking them after Dad died. I was never force-fed them. Dad didn't yell at me if I missed a dose. I always took the pills willingly because they genuinely helped get rid of the voice. Why wouldn't I? 

** You're weak.  **

_ Thanks, I know.  _

I stuck my head under the faucet to fill my mouth with water, dropped a small blue capsule into my mouth, and swallowed without hesitation. I sighed. The demon was making a low growling noise in the back on my head. He was going to throw a tantrum like this until my medicine kicked in. 

** You're being such a baby.  **

I nervously took off my knitted cap and ran my fingers over my head. Short hair prickled my fingers and I shivered as I was exposed to the cool air conditioning. My palms reflexively smoothed down my scalp, despite the fact that there wasn't any hair to smooth down. I rubbed my face.  God my eyes look tired. 

** So what's your plan, kid? I'm not finding any ideas in that thick skull of yours. **

_ What, you mean like eye cream? _

** No. **

_ Oh, so like what then? _ I snapped back. 

** You're homeless. **

_ No, I'm not.  _ I didn't know that your internal monologue voice could falter, but it would have here. _ I've got this under control. _

** You don't have a plan. You don't even have the beginning of a plan. Do you even know what a plan is? You haven't even gotten past going to bed tonight. Are you planning on vanishing in your sleep tonight? **

My mouth fell open to respond verbally, but I didn't say anything.  _ I don't know yet, but I'm figuring it out. _

** You have nothing. **

_ Thanks, you really love hammering that in, don't you?  _ I fiddled with my jacket and pulled my knit hat back down over my ears.  _ I'm going to figure it out. _

** When? When you can no longer pay to stay in a hotel?  **

_Maybe_.  I replied sarcastically. But honestly?  Was that my plan? I had already gotten rid of all of my Dad's stuff (his friends were like vultures, leaving bones of his belongings in the house). The house looked like a picture out of  How The Grinch Stole Christmas. The house itself was auctioned off. Dad had left me a good sum of money to my name, I settled the custody problem, everything was handled fine. I was out of school. Dad pushed me to the brink of insanity trying to get me to balance high school and his own personal occult teachings. I had no official magical teaching, but I know I few simple spells. I can make a healing potion or a decent invisibility potion. Dad used to swat my hands with a bamboo stick because I can barely focus on anything long enough to channel my energy into a spell.

_ I guess... I guess I could get an apartment? I could go to college? Do I  want  to go to college? No, not....  really.  Jeez. I've really got nothing.  _

I made my way back down the peach coloured funeral home hallway. I didn't return to my seat and listened to the rest of the funeral just outside the back door. I got to take the ashes with me. I buckled dad up in the passenger side and off we went. 

I drove back to my hotel. I had packed up all of the stuff I really needed into a few suitcases and boxes. Just clothes, posters, CDs, books... I snagged some of Dad's knickknacks right after he passed. I can't read much of his work, but I like to flip through his old spell book. It's made of leather that's at least over a century old, with ancient parchment, mostly in a language I can't read. There's something about seeing his handwriting that's comforting to me. 

I was sitting on the carpet of my hotel room, using the light from the late night news to read. Dad had such steady hands. His pictures and diagrams were so fine, so detailed. My wave of grief was quickly wearing off and I felt nausea churning in my gut. He was such a good guy. He did so many good things and helped so many people but I just keep thinking... I’m struggling to remember who he really was.

The emotional exhaustion was taking over me. I was dozing off, drool and grease from the leftover slice of pizza that I had dropped were staining the page. Occasionally a commercial that was jarring enough would cause me to stir, but my whole body felt like I was trying to run through a muddy swamp made of quicksand and pudding.

I was having a dream. Dreams are weird, especially with a demon living in your head. It feels like the two of you are trapped in some haunted Disney world ride, sinking down into a black endless pool of water but you can’t get up because you’re strapped down to the boat. I could see my father, holding that bamboo stick firmly in his hands. He would lightly and rhythmically slap his own palms.

_“The pain will help you remember, Colel.”_ He would say. His eyes were sharp, vivid. He was awake. He was no longer sick.

I stare down. I’m at a school desk. There is a pen in my hand. I was taking a test but it wasn’t in English. The writing was runes and scribbles and shapes that didn’t even look possible to make. It was multiple choice at least. I turned in my seat to look at Dad. “I can’t read this.”

“Well why not?” He asked plainly.

“Because... because it’s not in English.”

“And why shouldn’t you be able to read it?”

“Because... because I only know English, Dad, I can’t take a test I can’t read—“

His arm swung. There was a snap as the stick came towards my face.

Something tickled the back of my neck.

I didn't let it bother me at first. Probably my shirt tag or a fly or something. The TV droned on in my peripheral vision. I was completely alone. The tickling was getting more aggressive. There was a burning sensation creeping up the base of my skull. A sharp, electrical scent that I couldn't quite pinpoint filled my nose. My ears felt hot. My neck was  burning up  and it was getting worse faster than I could possibly react. By the time my hand actually went to touch the top of my head, it was like sticking my hand into a gas stove. I let out a noise that I couldn't even describe in pain. I was on my feet in a second, running to the bathroom as fast as I could. 

My jaw dropped when I saw it. The black tattoos that ran from my hairline around the top of my head and down my neck onto my back were burning white. Not the color of skin, but of light or snow or sparks. I tilted my head down and instinctively checked the tattoos that wrapped around my skull and went down my neck. I'm not sure why, but I'm scared that one day there will be another one of them, or  worse , that one of them is going to go missing. There were all there, and they were all igniting my head. Most of what was left of my hair had been burned away.

My tattoos showed up on my body when I was twelve. Can you imagine the conversation I had to have with Dad? "Now you're body's going to be going through some  changes ... those changes being body hair and cryptic rune tattoos that cannot be deciphered in any known language." That had been part of Dad’s life mission to solve. Sometimes he treated me like a guinea pig because of them, making long detailed diagrams of them, reading dozens of books to no prevail. He would take blood samples and skin samples and would even try to mutilate the marks, but they never changed in any way. My tattoos have never been  on fire.

I ran to the bathtub and stuck my head under the faucet, blasting my head with as much cold water as I could, but the water wasn't  cold enough. My fingers were squeezing the edge of the tub as hard as I could, trying not to scream in pain. It was like a branding iron pressed down on my skull and wasn't letting up anytime soon. It wasn't dulling, it wasn't stopping. I don't know how long I sat in the bathroom floor, sobbing, hoping the water would get colder. I had the knob turned to the coldest setting but I could feel steam rose off of my body. I wished I was dead. I wanted this to kill me. I wanted Dad to hold my hand, or make me a anesthetic potion. I might’ve had one in my bag, but the poor relief from the water was enough to make me not want to move. Not even the demon was there to comfort me. Blood was running down my face into the tub. 

I passed out at some point because I woke up and was practically water boarding myself with a towel, the shower spigot still running. I touched my head, but the skin was raw and blistered. Even when I tattoos appeared when I was twelve, they just...  showed up painlessly. In fact, I wouldn't have noticed if Dad hadn't forced me to shave my head after he saw the ones on my ears and neck. My body was still shaking, threatening to collapse with every step as I made it to the sink. 

** You were out for a while. ** The voice said. 

"Yeah...." I grunted, gripping the sink.  Holy shit.

The tattoos used to look faded, greyish-black, as if they had literally been tattooed on me the normal way. They were  _cyan_. _Neon cyan_.  The kind of neon cyan that only exists at the outer edge of a color wheel on Microsoft paint. They were also surrounded by a bloody, crusted blister. My skin even appeared to be  glowing like the tattoo ink was made of radon, if you could even call it ink.  I'm gonna throw up.

** What do you think it means? **

"I don't know!"  I shouted at the mirror. "YOU'RE the paranormal one! Not ME!" 

** Don't yell at me! I didn't do it!  **

I wanted to accuse him of lying. The demon living rent-free in your brain is a perfect scapegoat for this kind of thing. But I knew it didn't matter how hard I pressed, he didn't know. He  wouldn't . He didn't know anything the first time they showed up, and I know that the omniscience only worked one way, but there was a certain level of trust that eighteen years will bring you. 

"Does it look that bad?" I asked aloud. 

** Kid, I only see what you see. Turn and let me see the back.  ** There was a handheld mirror next to the sink that I used to see the back of my head.  ** Yeah, it's bad. **

"Do I go to the hospital? Is there someone I can call?"

** You already know that answer to that. **

_ Of course I do.  _

I took a large dose of ibuprofen and prayed to a multitude of gods that I don't know even exists. 

The tv flickered off despite no one touching the remote. Scenic pictures of hiking trails and people canoeing on a lake appeared on the screen, but it looked like it was made in the 90's. Soothing music hummed in the background, but I could feel my spine twisting, persuading me to get as far away from this as possible.

_ "Looking to get away for a weekend?"  _ A woman’s voice lured.

The footage changed to a little girl laughing and jumping up and down in front of a statue of... Bigfoot?

_ "Need a place that's fun for the kids  and the adults?" _

"Um," I said out loud. The footage changed to what looked like a small museum dedicated to Bigfoot? This is an advertisement for a Bigfoot museum? The little girl was drinking out of a cup shaped like Bigfoot’s head. Her parents were following behind her, laughing. They looked like people, but the longer I stared... what was wrong with their eyes? Something was off.

_ "Looking for answers to a cryptic mystery that was thrust upon you?" _

Um.

_ "I can't hear you, what was that, Colel?" _

"Y-Yes?" My heart was rapidly pounding in my chest now.

_ "Then come on up to Scorchrest, Washington! Located just at the top of the Olympic Peninsula!"  _

The narrator’s voice changed to a man’s. Now there was a man in a perfectly ironed blue suit standing on the screen. His teeth were too straight. Too white. It was as if he had his lips surgically put into a smile. His eyes were too friendly. That man knew too many things.  _ “My name is Tommy King, and I’ve dedicated my life to creating a safe haven for all shapes and forms of magic. Scorchrest has been my home, and the home of my family for over a century now. We are dedicated not only to the preservation of our beautiful wildlife reserve, but to the education we provide. Our local community college was ranked number one in the country in occult studies and is the perfect place for young students to perfect their craft. And I’ve personally dedicated the last decade of my time to eliminating the threat of alien invasions after the Treaty of 2002!” _

“Um,”

_ “So come down to Scorchrest! With five star lodging, zero percent chances of alien invasions, hiking trails for all levels of ability, no alien invasions, and even the chance to come of real, safe, certified Sasquatch tours!” _

Gibberish was spat out and text scrolled down the screen so fast I could barely make it out to be squeaking.

A map was flashed on and off the screen with an image of the state of Washington with a big golden star on it.

_ "Well? Are you going to write this down, or what?"  _ The woman’s voice asked.

"Oh, right." I grabbed the hotel stationary and wrote down the directions as the tv gave them to me.  Scorchrest, Washington.

_ "We look forward to seeing you soon! Very, very soon! Remember to check into your room at the lodge and don’t be late!” _

The tv turned off and went back to the regular scheduled show. 

** Is now a bad time to bring up when check out is? **

Schizophrenia is known to develop in people mid-to-late twenties.

I know that I just spent my eighteenth birthday with my head in a bathtub, but I hope you can see how I'm starting to question if I'm schizophrenic.

"This seems like a bad idea." I said to my empty car. I was getting tired of staring at the same stretch of highway. It's the same pine trees, the same cars, the same exits the same rain... I swear, I keep seeing the same car wrecks on the side of the road. I haven't slept. My head was throbbing, inside and out. I couldn't even put a hat on because my baseball cap kept reopening the scabs over and over. I think I'm running a fever. The road kept stretching on and on for eternity, without any hope for sunlight anytime soon. The windshield wipers made the worst scraping noise I've ever heard and I found myself bracing with every wipe. I was almost convinced the past two days of driving I've done today has been nothing more than a fever dream.

**In what way? Never mind, I already know the answer. I mean, what were you going to be doing otherwise? Enrolling in community college? Spending thousands of dollars on what... a music education degree? Come on, you can do better than this. Clearly someone knows what's wrong with you. For me, personally, I would LOVE to know when we can expect the burning in here to stop because I am going to lose my MIND.**

"What do you want me to do? Find a doctor? Find a magical doctor? Do you even know how many of those there are? Oh wait, the best magical doctor in the world just DIED!"  


**Maybe Thomas King is a doctor. Maybe he knows a doctor. Maybe he’ll know how to help.**

I looked over at Dad. He was in his little black box, tucked in the passenger seat atop his spell book, buckled in for safety. "Maybe." I said.

**Please keep your eyes on the road. I'm too young to die.**

"What? I'm not?" I asked. I passed the minivan in front of me. "Anyways, we'll make it there by tonight. Maybe somebody there has something stronger than ibuprofen."

**No pot.**

"No pot?"

**I don't like how it makes me feel.**

"Aren't you an infinitely old spirit of embodied evilness or something?"

**Yes.**

"And you're afraid of a little marijuana?" I mocked.

**I'm an infernal creature of the night. I am the embodiment of suffering. I am a paradoxical inflictor of pain and agony whose existence goes against the rules of space and time. Your flesh is merely a temporary vessel to contain my vastness and I am NOT to be disrespect by a flimsy, replaceable, weak mortal creature. I could crush your soul into nonexistentence in a second and I—**

"And you're afraid of marijuana?"

**It makes me giggly. I don't like being giggly.**

"Okay." I replied. "You could've—"

**I know, I could've just said that.**

We were both silent for a long time. The radio kept cutting in and out of service so I only got clips of music and advertisements. I have exhausted all of my favourite CDs and my car doesn't have an aux (as if I could get any signal all the way out here). "Would you lie to me is I asked you if you have ulterior motives?"

**Would I? Yes. Am I? No.**

"I still don't understand why you're having me do all of this."

**I know that this is too complicated for your little human mind, but I am a well respected figure where I'm from! I am a punisher! A channel used to crush people like you for eternities! I am the one with firey pitchforks with the names of souls carved into the hilts! I am the executor of all things terrible upon people that dwell amongst the flames of hell—**

"You need to watch less tv after I go to sleep."

**I AM THE ONE THAT DOES THE TORTURING. I WILL NOT STAND FOR WHATEVER BLASPHEMOUS ENTITY THAT IS CAUSING PAIN UPON MY VESSEL.**

"That's cute." I replied sarcastically. "Have I ever asked you—"

**Yes, a million times.**

"Can I finish?" I waited. "Were you sent to hurt me?"

Silence.

"That's a yes."

**I didn't say anything.**

"But you didn't say no."

**I didn't say anything.**

"Because you know I'm not going to like the answer."

**Because I am indifferent to the question being asked.**

"Of course you are." I said under my breath. I turned the radio as far up as I could. The static noise would drown out both of us. Only gurgling came from the back corner of my mind as he pouted off to hide.

**You're gonna want to take the next exit.**

"And then it's a straight shot there, right?" I asked desperately, turning the radio down just as the car managed to get a strong enough signal for one full song. Having a demon that takes in twice the information than you do and never sleeps is actually extremely useful. He remembers everything I don’t.

**Yes... for the next two and a half hours.**

“This better be worth it. It _better_ be worth it. I'll have you know that I have _nothing_ going for me at the moment other than a six pack of monsters and you do not want to underestimate the portion of me that is willing to total this car."

**I wouldn't count on it.**

The next two and a half hours I about clawed my eyeballs out. I had to stop at a gas station. The attendant at the counter had no idea what I was talking about when I inquired about the exit. I almost had a breakdown in the bathroom. It finally hit me.

_I have absolutely nothing left._

_I don't have a house. I don't have a bed. I don't have a reliable place to keep food. I don't have any parents. I don't have any friends. I don't have a significant other. I don't have a single thing other than my car._

**You've got me.**

"Who said I wanted you?" I spat out.

**Do you want me to leave?**

"You can't leave." I said. He _couldn't_. He _would've_ left when I was a kid. He's clearly got to be stuck with me. He's _got_ to be stuck with me, right? I've begged and pleaded for years to just be normal, demon-free, just like everyone else. Maybe I'm being punished for something I did in a past life, I don't know. And maybe my punishment was that I had to put up with him and now it's that he's going to leave me when I need him the most and—

**You're overthinking this, kid.**

"I don't know what I want." I confessed as I sunk back into my seat behind the wheel and cracked open another energy drink. I had to hit that sweet spot where the caffeine doesn't make me sleepy but instead makes me so goddamn jittery I could run a marathon.

**No, you don't. I'm trying to help you.**

"Are you?" I asked. "Seriously, I don't get what the plan is. I go up there, I find a doctor, you say 'I told you so', and then we go be homeless back in Denver again, right?"

**You're sitting on a literal fortune, you're not going to be homeless.**

"I don't know how to do my taxes!"

**Well don't look at me!**

"I'm gonna feel like shit if I find out this was pointless! Normal people don't just do whatever the voice in their head tells them to do!"

**Technically you're following a tv show ad.**

"Oh, yeah, right." I rolled my eyes. "I sighed. "Two and a half more hours... what do you want to listen to?"

**Jimmy Hendrix, please.**

We listened to Jimmy Hendrix most of the way to Scorchrest. And Queen. And Dolly Parton. And also one that was club remixes of Britney Spears. Where did I buy these CDs? Head-demon has a varied taste in music. Why do I have these CDs? The last leg of the road had absolutely nothing on it and I was dreading getting back in the car. It wasn't completely awful. It was along the coast, although I couldn't see the coast in the dark. I was supposed to get there at 11, according to my gps. I was counting down the minutes until 11. The roads were getting narrower and narrower and the trees were getting thicker as the coast disappeared again.

There was only one exit.

_Scorchrest, WA_ a big sign read.


	3. Effy

For my spring final, I had to pass a test in all of my classes without dying. It's standard that once you finish your first seven years, you take a certification test to see whether you graduate or not. After that, most people either stay at the college until they master their chosen field or they move away to study somewhere else. Some people fail on purpose, or the ones who didn't have that magic spark, and they go back to whatever normal life they would've lived otherwise.

The amphitheater in the basement of the courthouse has a protective glass wall on the three sides that face the bleachers to keep the other students at a safe distance. The janitors come in, put out the fires, sweep up the debris, banish the loosened hellhounds, repair the floor, and drag out the bodies. Unfortunately for once, the "pass without dying" rule wasn't made for me. But it should be pretty easy, right? I'm not one to commit overt suicide on the regular, but it had to be done to ensure my pass. I threw my shoes on and headed to the community college, confident that nothing could possibly happen to me.

Time's weird here in Scorchrest, so it's not like we don't have all the time in the world. The test is judged by a committee of three: The mayor, the principal of the school, and the mayor's wife. Each student must pass all eight classes of magic on a scale of 1-10, with a total no less than 144: a 60%. That means you need to get 21 points in each section to pass. Lots of underclassmen sit in the back of the auditorium taking notes, and some parents even come to watch. But it doesn't matter if you make a 144 or a 240, you get to walk at graduation one way or another.

Of course, the whole test is rigged. See, every person goes into this knowing they're going to get roughly a total of 3 points out of 30 on necromancy. We don't have many necromancers here because no one wants to study it, and the kids edgy enough to take the classes tend to flunk out anyways, so more likely than not, the judges are going to give you a 1. Necromancers tend to hit the low 220's in score, everyone else falling in the low 200's, some people die, and then there's always a bunch that don't study even though the test is mandatory and make like a 70 overall.

This has been an annual event since 1917, 103 years and going strong, and the highest score ever achieved was 232. Kid named Michael, last year. He made nearly perfect on all of his tests except one, necromancy, but even then, watching him perform his test was horrifying. Michael was a weird kid. He didn't really have any friends and he wore black suits all the time and he gave off the vibe that he's never used shampoo on his hair. But when I say every single jaw in the entire auditorium dropped when the dead body sitting on the floor sat up, you'd have thought he was the most loved person in the entire school. Not just conscious, but _sentient_. The body belonged to an old man from the local nursing home that had passed away a few days before and asked to donate his body to the school. He slowly rose up from the floor, looking around in confusion. He asked where his wife, who had died a few years prior, was. He said his mouth was dry. Of course, the man had cancer. He died again less than a week later, but Michael had become a celebrity. People showered him in praise and gifts, but he seemed apathetic to the proposition.

"Miss Effea Ridgeport." The mayor looked down from his mighty towering podium. All of the eyes in the room turned to look at me. My bruised, battered, and crying classmates gave me sympathetic looks and wide, horrified stares. I stood up from my seat and walked down the stairs into the pit. On the last step, I tripped on my shoelace and stumbled into the arena. Voices from all over the room gasped, waiting for my head to collide with the concrete floor, waiting for me to fall unconscious and fail my test before it even started. A janitor locked the door behind me.

"It's okay everyone!" I laughed. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder to kill me this time."

The mayor is a middle-aged guy. He has dark hair, perfectly gelled and styled, and olive tone skin. Whenever I see him, my first thought is how much do I think he spent on veneers. His mouth is semi-permanently forced open with Botox and whatever blood that he got from some kind of Satanic ritual that he does in his office during his lunch break. He doesn't look old, rather he has the appearance of a man that doesn't sleep, that doesn't eat anything but black coffee and chewing tobacco and sunflower seeds, and spends all day staring at paperwork and spreadsheets. He is crows feet and smile lines but he doesn't look old; frankly he looks timeless, not a day older than the day that he was inaugurated two years ago when I was sixteen. He has the kind of face that either sweeps you up in some kind of fantastical world where everyone tells you that everything is going to be okay or it incites anger inside your chest, strikes you with the fear of constant sameness, endlessness, and pommels you as a reminder that no matter what you do he will always be the one in control.

His eyes glared down at me. He wasn't smiling right now, almost like he was pretending to be serious and care about the livelihoods of the students in this room. Thankfully, everyone was mostly intact so far. Thomas King gives everyone the same look, a look that tells you that whether or not you worship him as a monarch, a reminder that you will never as much as look at him on equal footing. "Effea, are you ready to begin?"

"I guess so." I shrugged.

He looked me up and down. "You're out of dress code, but we'll let it slide." I looked down. _Dress code?_ I had on my stupid little expensive uniform just like I was supposed to. His technique worked though. I felt my face catch on fire with embarrassment, eyes from all around the room drilling into the back of my head. There's nothing in the rules about not intimidating your students into failing, but it was probably nothing more than an annoying jab at my style choices. He frowned. "You wouldn't show up to business meeting in ripped tights and a _bike lock_ around your neck, would you? And I don't remember the college allowing colored hair dye." He looked over at the principal who just shrugged.

Mrs. King, a kind faced blonde woman, elbowed her husband. She was either considerably younger then her husband, or she uses the most expensive face cream in the world, and honestly I bet my money on the latter. She's very pretty, very traditional, very modest. A homemaker, straight from a 1950's magazine. Although she never spoke on it publicly, her face had a long white nearly symmetrical scar down her face. I think she usually plays the role of docile housewife, but she has a good heart. She doesn't talk much. She and they mayor have a young boy, Tommy Jr. He's nine, so he's got a couple more years before he'll start at the college.

"Alright, Miss Ridgeport. Let's begin." Mayor King cleared his throat. "The first test is in Divination. For testing purposes, I will need you to create a telepathic bond with me so I can ask you questions. I will ask that you answer verbally. You may begin whenever you're ready."

His eyes are uncomfortably sharp. The longer I kept eye contact with him, the worse I was beginning to feel and the more I'm beginning to question if this man actually blinks.

 _"Hello? Hello?"_ I thought.

 _"Hi, Effea."_ His lips didn't move other than the slight upturning at the corners. It's incredibly uncomfortable having someone so invasively in your mind, especially with his eyes boring into every corner of my thoughts. He was searching, but I didn't know what for. My face was growing hot. _"I'm going to ask you about a magical artifact. I want you to repeat the name, and tell me about the history and a brief description of the physical appearance, and the magical abilities of the object. Are you ready?"_

 _"I guess so, I think."_ Students are quizzed on random objects held tightly in the archive. A poisoned sword, a lavish goblet, pieces of alien spaceship, enchanted bowling shoes, a burned flag, a locket....

_"Your object is the cloak belonging to my great great grandmother, Joeby King, co-founder and settler of Scorchrest."_

I wracked my brain through the town's archives. I counted every single object by code. I spent hours in there, studying tons of different important artifacts from the last century or so. A cloak. Where was the cloak?

"There _wasn't_ a cloak." I blurted aloud. I started rubbing my forehead. His gaze never faltered, but for a second I could feel my own eyes glaze over in a trance. "Not in the archives at least... but there was a cloak. It belonged to Joeby King, the wife of the founder of the town. It was bright red and it had silk lining... and the trim had hand embroidered runes and it... it had a hidden pocket of holding on the right breast." Words were coming out of my mouth faster than I could create them in my mind, as if I must've been too sleep deprived from studying to consciously know what I was talking about. I had a clear image of a cloak in front of me, but I had no idea where it could've possibly come from. I don't remember where I heard of a person named Joeby or seen her in a cloak or why there was any significance. I could feel the fabric beneath my fingers, reading the delicate signs on the hem of the fabric, as if I was living within its story for myself. "It was armored. It didn't look like it, but the outside of it had wards that caused spells to bounce off of it. Joeby was a witch. It disappeared. It was stolen by someone but I don't think they ever found out who. It wasn't buried with her, but someone... took it. No, wait, no, it was gifted to someone but I don't know who. And her cloak..." I took a deep breath. "It was warm. The inside of it was... warm. And it--it smelled like lavender and sandalwood and mint.”

I was getting well deserved weird looks from everyone in the room. When I stopped talking, I could barely piece together everything I had just memorized. The color drained from Mr. King's face and he sat back in his chair. His fists clenched on the desk and he made a note on his paper. My brain felt suddenly vacant from his presence. "Right. Yes." He cleared his throat. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. "El--Effea, could you, um, proceed to enchantment? I need for you to summon a memory for me."

I pressed my finger up against my temple, drawing out a long, shimmery golden ribbon from within. I shook it out and handed it to him. Both sides of the ribbon played a looping video of a memory of my choice. I was still panicked on the sight from my sudden knowledge on some dead guy's cloak. I drew out the first, strongest thing I could pull out. They didn't like it, but it was enough to pass me. Then I got a moment to prepare myself before the fight. Some kids put up lots of wards and protections and others just do nothing. Hopefully if all went well all I would need was the sigil I drew on the floor with a piece of charcoal.

Every student has to engage in combat, even if they're going into a more pacifistic field like healing. It's easy as long as you studied and you keep your distance. The problem is that you have to be performative in a situation that you would otherwise just be fighting to stay alive. A holographic figure appeared in front of me. It looked roughly human shaped, with a human head and limbs, but no face or specific details. It looked like it was flickering between pink and blue and purple, mostly solid, but to a certain degree translucent. It stared at me offensively, with fists drawn, waiting for my first move.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Ridgeport."

The expressionless face flickered. It drew back its fists, shooting a very real meteor out of thin air at my body. I felt the heat as it flew towards me. I skirted on my heels to dodge the fireball that smashed into the wall and dissipated into nothing. I regained my composure and the holographic mannequin recoiled to send a second fireball at me. I had enough time to stick out my hands and focus on dissipating the ball into sparks. The figure didn't emote, it just recalculated to hit me again with something else.

All I had to do was keep running around the edge of the arena. The figure ran after me, stumbled as soon as its feet tripped over the charcoal sigil, and smashed into the floor in a pile of translucent cubes. But as soon as it fell, a taller, wider holograph came up in its place. It was less humanoid and was more like a lump of pure muscle. The creature's jaw fell open and let out a loud battle cry and it drew out a sword from its back. It kicked its tree-trunk legs and huffed. My shaky fingers reached up in the arm and I began making a twisting motion with my hands, rapidly spinning the air faster and faster until it became a thick hot cloud of smoke. I flung it in the direction of the creature, white hot embers dumping onto it on the floor. It shook its head as if it had been blinded by the coals.

The creature grunted and charged at me again. I tried to swerve my body out of the way again, but the monster swung its sword at me. It may have looked like a light projection, but it cut my arm open like metal and knocked me down. I was so focused on what was going on I didn't even feel anything. Voices from the crowd gasped and cried. I managed to wiggle myself from underneath the creature's body and get back on my feet. It turned its body and swung again at me with its sword but missed. I focused my hand at it, directing a bright red ball of fire into its chest. It backhanded its sword at me, swatting at the fireball like in ping pong. I reacted fast enough, sending the blast bouncing off of a shield of flames that I wrapped over myself.

The heat washed over me and as soon as the smoke cleared, I reached out my fingers towards the creature's face where its eyes were supposed to be. A stream of colorful lights blasted from my fingertips and sent its head flying backwards. It reeled in pain, huffing and coughing. I used the distraction to my advantage to narrowly avoid its sword again. Its vision was impaired now, but not the way I wanted. It saw how I stood out and began to charge. Focusing all of my energy inside of me, I pushed out a copy of myself from my chest. She stood her ground, a perfect mirage for the holograph to trample as I repositioned for my next attack. The creature threw its head into the glass wall and people screamed, running away as the wall began to bend and shatter.

I threw a couple more fireballs at it to tear it down, but that was not only fruitless but I'm sure I lost a couple of points for "lack of creativity." It's not great to use spells more than once. I rubbed my fingers together, swirling my arms in circles to create an arrow out of thin air. It ignited itself, flying freely across the room into the figure's neck, cubes of light breaking as it thrashed closer and closer to me, knocking me back onto the floor. The arrow dug a hole, but the damage done was minimal. I was in too close of a proximity. My plan had been to keep my distance but this thing didn't want to stay off of me. I shoved my fear back down, channeling it into a ball in my chest. I ripped the energy out of me, blasting fireworks of all different colors out when I swung my arms. It blew up in the creature's face, sending pink and purple cubes that were as hot as molten glass onto me. With it distraction now, the equivalent of bleeding out, I clenched my fingers and held the creature in its spot, towering over me. My whole body was shaking and I knew I couldn't hold it in place for long. But for a second, I caught the eye of the mayor and something felt terribly wrong with him.

I had an idea of how I would finish off the beast. I created a hole in the floor in the moment just before the figure regained its mobility and crushed me. I dropped myself into the dimensional hole, positioning myself to reappear in a portal behind it, and when I came up the other side...

I was in a closet. It was dark, suffocatingly dark, and tight. No monsters. No students. No mayor. Just complete silence. My ears were ringing from how quiet it was. It felt like everything was crushing me, the walls closing in and sucking all of the energy out of me.

I had tried to teleport myself maybe ten feet forward, but I got flung probably twenty or so feet back through the wall in the back of the amphitheater.

My heart was still pounding with adrenaline and I finally had a quiet second to compose my self. I summoned a flame up from the palm of my hand, surveying my surroundings. It was an incredibly cramped closet due to the large shelves and cardboard boxes that covered the floor all the way to the door. But as soon as I looked down towards my feet, I realized that the boxes had a large stamp on it. **CLASSIFIED**.

I am absolutely not supposed to be here right now.

I climbed my way over to the door. Not only was it locked, but there wasn't a doorknob. There was no keypad, nothing. Not even light came in around the corners of the door. I was in some kind of vault. I banged my other fist against the metal door. The steel felt like it could've been a foot thick. No one could've heard me scream from in here. The adrenaline from the fight had receded but it took only a moment for a panic attack to set in. I collapsed onto a pile of the boxes. The heat and wavering light was the only thing keeping me steady in that moment. I couldn’t focus my energy enough to teleport out.

I was locked inside that vault for a couple of hours. I gave myself a quick check over, trying to heal my cuts as best as I could to hold off until someone found me. Once the claustrophobia finally staved off, you can't really blame me for digging through some of the files. However, some of what I found was just... horrifying.

I've always gotten a weird vibe from the mayor. I know I can't possibly be the only person in town that finds it weird that he come from a long line of people who have run this town like some kind of fucked up monarchy. But inside the boxes was a bunch of tax returns and receipts. For almost the last two decades, Mr. King had been stealing taxpayer money and moving it around. Using context clues, and knowing that the alien invasion treaty was in 2002... it's logical to make a leap and assume that he's been using money to pay people off for almost two decades. Everything clicked into place. For years, we all knew of the worsening Sasquatch attacks leading to missing persons. No one went out after dark here and posters cover almost every pole in the entire city. No one goes to the National Park anymore. But what if it was all just a coverup to hide something more nefarious? What if he was paying victims to keep their mouths shut? His family has worked so hard to scrub away our sordid history with extraterrestrials, and what if this was the proof hiding in the pudding?

The vault door swung open and none other than the mayor and a couple of other nervous city commission members and police officers were there to greet me. Mr. King grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me out of the closet, leaving scattered papers in my wake. He pointed his stupid fat finger at me, his eyes boiling with rage. "No one is going to believe you if you tell anyone what you saw. I'll make sure of it." Was all he said. I was informed later that I didn't fail my test, but I made an incomplete because I never completed or even attempted necromancy.

So you can probably guess why I took this as an opportunity to find out if I could get back into the courthouse. I spent the summer trying to find maps of the inside, trying to get in on tours or events, anything I could to scope out the vault inside the mayor's office. I figured out that I could climb down into the bushes and get a good look inside the windows to the basement. If I could just teleport through that wall... only to set off a motion detection alarm. Luckily I made it out in time before the police pulled up. People have been careful to not come out at night, so I never expected a car to come skirting around the intersection, smashing into my body.


	4. Chapter 4

The road were completely empty. I mean, completely empty. There wasn't a single car on the roads. It was like a ghost town, except for the cars in the parking lots and in front of houses. All of the lights were off. On the right, there was a welcome center and a small park. On the left, a large hotel, built like a cabin. Surprisingly... the lodge was still open and lights were still on. A neon vacancy light flickered longingly like a water spigot in a desert. I didn't have a good feeling going up there, but I was _supposed_ to be here. They said I would have a room, right? That's what I was told, right? But as I slowed down, there not being anyone in front or behind me, my phone went flying into the floor. I looked around for anyone or anything that could've been nearby, and it felt like there were someone watching me from the woods or inside the dark houses.

I had to go through the main intersection of the small town to get to the lodge. The light was red. With one hand, I was trying to find my phone in the floorboards, the other still pressed against the lock button on the driver side door, pushing it over and over and over. I kept checking over my shoulder. Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing_. This is the longest red light I've ever seen. Was I not on the sensor?

_Green._

_Gas._

_Go._

**BRAKE!**

I have no idea where she came from.

It was like my car had thrusted itself forward with power that had come out of nowhere. I slammed the brakes as hard as I could and my car began to fishtail through the intersection as a human body flew onto the front of my car. The airbags went off and glass shattered under her weight, finally coming to a jerky stop.

My ears were ringing as I forced my door open. I was stumbling, high off of adrenaline as I rushed to the body that was lying atop the hood of my car. " _Are you okay? What happened? Are you okay?!_ " There wasn't a soul around us. No lights came on. No people came out of houses.

She didn't respond.

 _Am I okay?_ I hadn't taken a second to even examine my own body from the crash.

 **Uh, hang on there pal.** There was a distant sound of what could only be the banging on pots and pans as my head demon went through my brain looking for something. **Cuts and bruises! No harm done!** He shouted from afar.

I got closer to her face which was frozen in a state of fear, eyes wide open. The girl looked like she was my age, mixed, with black hair, except for two strands of purple in the front, matted with blood. She was dressed in dark clothes with a collection of chunky, tangled jewelry, and piercings. Her legs were broken and twisted all weird and there was blood all over and her arm wasn't supposed to be bent that way and—God, she's bleeding so much.

She's not breathing. She's not breathing. She's not breathing.

I just murdered a girl.

There was an explosion. My body flew back onto the pavement by the gust of wind that had been emitted. The explosion had made such a loud noise that it felt quiet. I think I went deaf for a while. The sky was so bright now, turning blue within the dark. I couldn't open my eyes at first, blinking painfully as I tried to make out anything in what looked like sunlight. When my eyes adjusted to the light, there was a vaguely humanoid figure floating above my car.

An... angel?

The light was coming from a hooded figure that stared down at me. But it didn't have a face, it was a... a skeleton wrapped in some kind of robe, shrouded in sunbeams. Its eyesockets glowed almost as bright as the white light that haloed the figure, the color of perfect, pure, gold. It outstretched its hands at its sides as it floated overhead, seemingly summoning a swarm of eyeballs like a cloud of wasps. The light began to vibrate, growing stronger, and stronger, and stronger until the most unsettling screech. The figure shot up into the sky in a giant fireball before coming down and smashing itself into my car and disappearing. The roof of my car crushed under the force, but the angel was completely gone.

I just murdered someone and now I've witnessed an angel. _Her_ angel? Am I hallucinating this?

My ears were ringing, but my hearing was beginning to coming back. Now it was just me and the dead girl lying on my car. "Oh my god!" I wheezed, crawling backwards away from my car. I just killed an entire, living, human person. My chest was folding in on itself and I was coughing through breaths. My face was on fire just like the rest of my head, sweat and tears pouring down me. My t-shirt was quickly getting drenched in sweat.

Her body twitched.

_How the hell am I going to bury a dead body? Do I call the police? Where's my phone?_

Her body jerked. She let out a groan.

I could hardly breath, but my body froze. That's not how bodies move when they die...

Her body rolled around onto its back, grunting and moaning as her legs twitched aggressively. Her legs. They weren't broken anymore. The car was still smashed and bloody but her body was sitting up on the hood of the car. The girl rolled her neck in a circle, stretching her muscles. She took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her palms. Her hair was still a mess and I could barely make out her face. I screamed. "Hey, are you okay?" She said curiously.

"I just—I just hit you with my car—" I managed to say.

"Oh shit, yeah." She turned back to the car to examine the damage. "Dude, I'm so sorry, are you okay?" The girl hopped off the hood of the car, dusting her hands off as she looked down at me.

"You just died—there was this—"

"Yeah, hey, look, it's cool." She tried to soothe my rising panic. "Look! I'm not dead, this kind of thing happens to me all the time, seriously, it's no big deal. Are you--"

"There was this... there was this thing above the car and it was glowing it was like—like some kind of skeleton-angel thing in the sky?"

"A what?" She looked over her shoulder, then the other. "An angel? Huh. I've never heard of that happening." Her voice was weirdly casual given the circumstances. "I'm sorry about your car. I'd call a tow truck but we don't really have those any more, so like... maybe you can just walk with me and we can talk a bit more?"

"What's going to happen to my car?" I asked skeptically. "What do you mean you don't have tow trucks anymore?"

"It's a really long story. The mayor here sold all of them to the alien colony a long time ago because they were doing some experiment where they stacked them all up in a field—" She was making a stacking motion with her hands. "It—yeah, it's a long story. Oh, the mechanics will find it when the sun comes up. It'll get patched up."

"But—hang on, what?" I demanded.

She sighed, smoothing out her hair. "The mechanics will come find it, they'll carry it back to their shop, patch it up, and they'll give you your price."

"How much... can my car even be salvaged like that?" I asked, already digging around the passenger seat. Dad was fine. I picked him up in my arm and grabbed a backpack that I had filled with my clothes and Dad’s spell book.

"They're miracle workers, don't even worry about it." She reassured. "And don't worry about your stuff. No one comes out at night and the mechanics will find it as soon as the sun comes up. They probably won't go through all of it." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "Listen, are you staying at the lodge? They're going to fix your car up soon, and it's not safe to be out here at night."

"Why were you out here then?"

"I'm..." She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it. It's—a long story..."

"Is everything here a long story?"

"Come on, you dealt with a car crashed and survived, you saw an angel, and your head is bleeding." I realized that my hat was gone. She could see my tattoos. "You look awful. Seriously. We gotta get you somewhere safe with a warm bed."

I was feeling slightly calmer. "What's your name?"

"Effy. What about you?"

"Colel."

"Colel." She reaffirmed. "Let's go. Quick. You never know what's out here."

We ran together down the empty streets beneath the streetlights. "So you just died?"

"Yeah! I do it all the time!" Effy replied. "It's a—you know, it's a kind of curse or something. I die all the time! Every single day!"

"I should've been paying better attention!"

"Nah, it's a luck thing. I'm _extremely_ unlucky! You probably didn't even have control of the car."

I did, though. "Right..."

The lodge was even bigger on the inside, and circular? Looking out into the big open room, there were two main staircases. The building looked like a rectangle from the outside, but with the way it was stretched out, it looked like a fisheye lense. Everything was drab and beige, but a clean and nice beige, dark green, and chocolate brown. A tv was on playing footage extremely similar to the ad that I saw on loop, same weird 90s feel and everything. A voice was coming from the speakers but it didn't sound like english. Or words. One wall was lined with pamphlets. Immediate panic flooded over me. Something here felt off. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush from the crash, but the lights in here made this place eerily surreal. Where the hell am I supposed to start with this?

**Maybe try the front desk.**

_Thanks, Captain Obvious._ The back wall had "SCORCHREST, Washington" in big letters, next to a carved statue of a bear that looked to scale and a small mosaic fountain. Just in front of the letters, in the middle was a wooden desk where a middle-aged woman in a green polo shirt was typing slowly at her computer. It was almost comical how slow she was typing. There wasn't a single other person in sight.

We hesitantly approached the desk, hoping not to scare the lady, when I noticed the wooden statue in the back a bit closer. I don't know what the statue was of, but oh dear god, it was absolutely not a bear. Glancing over her desk... she had a gun? Like an entire rifle just stashed under her desk? "Uh, excuse me, ma'am?"

The woman's dead eyes rolled towards where I was and her eyebrows raised, her jaw hanging wide open like a dead fish. She took no mind to Effy. Her name tag said " _Tammy_." "Can I help you with something?" Her voice was an aggressively southern drawl, which was even weirder given the current location.

"Uh, yeah, I just got here and—"

The woman sprang to life faster than I could blink, the rifle in one hand and slung over her shoulder in a second. The rolling chair flew backwards into the wall and the woman took several steps back. My hands shot up, dropping my keys. She was clinging to the rifle furiously. Effy didn't move. Was this a trap. "You ain't a tourist, are you?"

"A tourist? Um—" I stammered, confused.

She was loading the gun. "You ain't here for me, are ya?" Tammy growled.

**This is a trap.**

"No, I'm-I'm—" how do you begin to explain the situation I'm in? I kept looking over to Effy, whose expression was calm given the fact that this lady was pointing a gun at my face. This was a trap. "I'm just passing through and—"

"Passin' through to where!" She accused. "This is the only stop along the highway! We're at the edge of the border, there ain't no where to go except the ocean!"

"I'm sorry, I'm just looking for a map? I'm looking for someone here because I need help and I saw your ad and it said something about a room—"

She lowered her gun in relief the second I said "room". "Well why didn't you say so, kid." Tammy set the gun down and got back in her chair. She resumed her fish-like state and pulled up a clipboard from somewhere. She flipped through some pages. "What's your name?"

"Colel Xoc."

"Cole Shock?" Tammy's face grew more worried. "We don't have a Cole Shock on the list."

"No, um Cole and then an 'L' on the end. Colel. And then my last name is spelled X-O-C." I felt heat fill my face. I hate having this exchange with everyone that I meet.

Tammy nodded and crossed out something. "Oh, I see ya, right here. Nice meet ya, Colel, you're running a bit late. Right, says here yer lookin for Tommy, right?"

"Yeah, how did you—"

"You're gonna figure it all out, just give it time and let fate do ‘er job.” She smiled. Her mouth looked weird, like her teeth went further back in her mouth like they were supposed to. Like there were too many, and they were too sharp, too jagged. "Here. Just take yer map. She’ll get it all settled for ya, alright?"

"Yeah." My heart was racing and I don't know why. "Thanks, Tammy."

Her lips somehow peeled back to reveal more teeth. "Oh, I'm not Tammy. You have a good night now. And make sure not to leave your room after you shut the door. Least not til the sun comes up. You'll be the only person on the third floor, too, so it's not like there'll be anyone up there to witness you if something's up and about. Oh, and the ice machine is broken."

I cut my eyes at Effy. She gave me a reassuring nod towards the staircase. "What was that about?" I aggressively whispered once we were out of what I assumed was earshot.

"They gotta check and make sure you're not a tourist."

"Oh, um—okay, well, aren't I a tourist though?"

"No, you were on the list." She looked confused. "Sorry, I forget people don't know how things work here. Your name was on a list because you were picked to come here. That's why you saw the ad. That's why you have a room here. Everything happens for a reason. But yeah, you've got to be careful of the tourists. They're wild, man." I took a deep breath. Looking down at my keycard, there number was the number "222", which was weird, given the fact that I was on the third floor.

My eyes widened. "The desk lady almost shot me when she asked me that and I don't know—I don't know what that means?"

Effy laughed. "If she didn't shoot you, then maybe I won't either."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What's up?"

"You... _died_. Then you didn't. How did that happen?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know, man. I just started doing it and I just keep dying, you know how it is."

"Are you, um... _magic?"_ I asked hesitantly.

"Well, kind of, but in a non related way, you know?" She replied. Effy reached out her arm, flicking her wrist and causing a flame to fly up into her hand. The flame crackled, dancing around her palm painlessly. "I'm learning magic. Different kind though."

"Cool cool cool." I nervously nodded. "Please don't kill yourself burning down the lodge."

"Oh, don't worry, I've caught myself on fire plenty of times." She twisted her arm and the flame extinguished herself. "I've never killed anyone else though."

"That's good." I said, not optimistic. "So um... how long have you been dying for?"

Her face grew weirdly somber. "Since I was fifteen. There was an... accident. And then I haven't stopped dying since."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I know that's not the answer you're looking for." Effy shook her head. "I don't know, but are you okay? What happened to your head? I didn't do that, did I?"

"No, no you didn't." I replied. "That's why I'm here. I'm trying to figure out some stuff."

"I get that." She nodded somberly. "You said you saw an angel. What do you think that was all about?"

"I don't know. I thought... maybe... you would know something about that?"

"Must've been an omen. Whether a good one or not, I don't know." Effy said softly. Listen, you said you were looking for Mr. King, right? The mayor?"

"The mayor?" I repeated. "I just saw the guy from the ad, I assumed maybe he could help me."

"Listen, I'm trying to get in there with him. I need to talk to him." Effy said quietly. I notice how yellow her eyes were in the light of the hallway. She almost looked like a cat. Black makeup was smeared all around her eyes, but she otherwise looked impeccable for someone who went through a massive trauma like that. My body hurt from the crash and my shins were banged up, but the dead girl looked _pristine_. "I'll come back here in the morning, okay? Around ten? We'll go down to city hall together."

"Oh, um, yeah. Okay." I nodded.

Her eyebrows creased. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I closed my eyes, trying to put words together. "Yeah, I'm just... I'm trying to process a lot right now. And I need to take a shower. See you at ten?"

She nodded in agreement. "See you at ten."

I swiped my card in the door and opened it, but Effy stopped there. I shut the door behind her. The rooms weren't very big, but the beds were comfortable. I would've gone to sleep then and there if I thought I could get away with not washing the blood and grime off of me. My head was still killing me.

**She's cute.**

_Dude seriously don't. Not like that._

**I'm just sharing facts. I’m your internal monologue, I gotta share what I think about it.**

_Yeah but I'm not into her like that._

**Fair enough. Just trying to lighten the mood, you know, after you committed manslaughter today. By the way, I've been stewing in here for a bit and I was thinking--**

The demon in my head was talking but I wasn't process the words. My mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment that her body collided with my car. I was lying in the dark room, thinking about the sound of the crunching metal, the bright white figure swimming in the air above me, and for some reason, the sound of heavy footsteps, metal chains scraping against the walls, groaning, and the water droplets that were landing on the carpet just outside my door. My door knob jiggled, but didn't budge. I can see now why I wasn't supposed to go outside.


End file.
